


Sherlock's Jaaneman

by Breath4Soul



Series: Logolepsy: (n.) An obsession with words [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: (ಠ‿↼), (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ:･ﾟ✧, Caretaker John, Community: sherlockbbc_fic, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Friends to Lovers, John Loves Sherlock, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Post Mary, Puns & Word Play, Requited Unrequited Love, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock Loves John, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 08:09:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5860936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breath4Soul/pseuds/Breath4Soul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Sherlock finds a new name for John that embodies how he truly feels for the man. It takes John a bit to catch on, but then Sherlock finally puts his feelings on the table.</b><br/>__________________</p><blockquote>
  <p><br/>Only once, in a room full of people after John had just pledged his life to another and so was powerless to respond, had Sherlock hinted at any depth to his feelings for him. Now, two years (and far too many tragedies) later, a misplaced word on a quiet Tuesday is threatening to bring it all to a head.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock's Jaaneman

The first time Sherlock utters it, John lets it pass without comment. In his usual effort to encourage his mad genius flatmate to eat, John pushes some toast on a plate to Sherlock's elbow as he sits at the kitchen table looking through his microscope. Sherlock lets the odd word (that is _not quite_ John's name) roll off his tongue, almost as if it is an absent thought. 

The way he says John's name has always been a bit _different_. He holds it in his mouth, drawing out the middle and breathing out the end so it somehow makes that name (so common in its own right) feel special and sacred. This new variation, though unusual, isn't particularly troubling to John. He pauses a moment, confused and considering it, but then continues on with making himself breakfast.

The second time it happens Sherlock is sitting on the couch with his legs folded crosswise and the laptop perched on top of them. John places a fresh cup of tea on the table in front of the distracted detective. Sherlock’s eyes instantly flick up to meet his, and the doctor pauses. 

“Thank you,” Sherlock says flatly adding that strange word that is _not quite_ John's name. 

The way his eyes linger, searching John’s face for a reaction, make’s the doctor certain that the strange twisting of his name is intentional on Sherlock's part.

John had planned to lounge in his chair by the fireplace and read the paper but, intrigued, he retrieves his tea and paper and settles onto the couch next to Sherlock.

“Alright,” John sighs after a moment of glancing at the paper. “Why are you saying my name like that?” He keeps his voice casual. He takes a sip of his tea, savoring the warm, familiar sensation dancing on his tongue and running down the back of his throat. Then he leans forward to place his mug on the table next to Sherlock's.

Sherlock’s brow furrows as he stares at his computer screen. He lifts his eyes to John. He opens his mouth slightly, then closes it. His narrowed eyes flick quickly to John’s forehead, his eyes, his lips, his shoulders, his trousers, his shoes then sweep back up to his face. 

“You’re going _out_. If you’re looking to see the girl at the market you should know she is in a _very serious_ relationship with the manager there, or at least they are shagging pretty regularly... I’d also steer clear of the produce aisle.”

“Really not interested,” John says rubbing the back of his neck. Sherlock raises his eyebrows and scans John again.

“Indeed. She’s far too young for you, John.” Sherlock observes flatly turning his eyes back to the computer. His mouth tightens at the corners and John notes the effort he is putting into maintaining his expression of indifference. There is a certain tension in the corner of his eyes that comes over him before he picks a fight to avoid a _real issue_. John isn’t having it today. He tilts his head and quirks an eyebrow at Sherlock.

“Nope.” He lets the word pop on his lips. “That’s not going to work, Sherlock…” He grins at him. “Come on, then… _Jahn-eh-mahn_ is it? Having some fun with my name then?” John waits patiently, not dropping his stare.

Sherlock stiffens. He glares at his computer screen in silence. Then he sighs, turning his deep green-blue and shimmering eyes to meet John's. They are not managing to stay shielded, they flicker with undercurrents of emotion.

“Oh…that's _not_ your _name_ , John.” His voice is casual, in contrast to the torrents of emotion evident in his eyes. 

“Yes, I am aware of my own name,” John remarks brusquely. He shifts back and smiles in amusement, eyes sparkling with good humor as he looks at Sherlock sideways, not fully turning his body towards him.

Sherlock remains serious, studying the doctor’s face intensely. As the silence stretches, John sobers. Apprehension suddenly churns in his gut. He looks at Sherlock with open concern. “What's is it, Sherlock?” Sherlock shakes his head, then sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging.

“ _Jaaneman..._ It's a term of - It's widely used in East Asian countries, having roots in Sanskrit and Urdu… it is used as a term of…” Sherlock swallows roughly. His eyes widen. “ _Endearment_.” 

John sits back. He blinks repeatedly and gazes across the room. A sudden tightness pulls in his chest. He clears his throat and turns his eyes back to Sherlock. He knows his friend doesn't feel comfortable in situations like this, the vulnerability and unfamiliarity in sharing emotions means it is generally avoided at all costs, so the doctor is determined to be as guileless and accessible as possible. He takes a sip of his tea to gather himself a moment.

“Alright.” John smiles genially and blinks slowly at him in his most soft and relaxed way. He speaks carefully in a tone that is a little too tight to be lighthearted, “So, what, _exactly,_ does it mean?” 

Sherlock swallows. His mouth turns down at the corners and his eyes widen. He appears embarrassed. “In general... it means _soul of mine_ ,” he whispers.

“Oh,” John breathes. He wets his lips and nods. He can feel as his face flushes with heat that spreads like hot liquid under his skin, moving down his shoulders and chest and pooling in his gut. He clears his throat and purses his lips thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes at some place over Sherlock’s shoulder.

“It - It just sort of _happened_.” Sherlock announces, fidgeting with the cord of his laptop. “When I traveled… taking down Moriarty’s network… I heard people use it sometimes, in a certain context, and… _the first time, at least_... it just _slipped out_.”

There is silence. John adjusts in his seat and stares absently at his steaming mug of tea sitting next to Sherlock's. _‘Soul of mine….Soul of mine... Soul of mine’_ plays on an endless loop inside his head. He squints at Sherlock and assesses him. He opens his mouth to speak, but Sherlock cuts him off. 

“But… if I'm honest, it seems a suitable descriptor for what you have come to mean to me.” Sherlock says quickly. 

John feels lightheaded. Sherlock’s words remain suspended in the airless room. John knows he is gaping, but he can’t quite help it. 

Only once, in a room full of people after John had just pledged his life to another and so was powerless to respond, had Sherlock hinted at any depth to his feelings for him. Now, two years (and far too many tragedies) later, a misplaced word on a quiet Tuesday is threatening to bring it all to a head. 

“I'm not sure I know what _this_ means,” John confesses. 

He means, of course, Sherlock’s no-longer-closeted affection for him and how they were to proceed. So he is surprised when Sherlock responds by saying, “See.” And rotates the computer on his lap so John can view the screen. 

On Sherlock's screen is a [website](http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=jaan) with a definition of the word in question in a bulleted list. John slides closer to him. He clears his throat, his eyes flicking up to his companion's as he touches the laptop. It suddenly seems oddly intimate to touch the laptop since it actually rests in his friend's lap; his friend who might be confessing that he cares for him in ways other than friendship. Sherlock nods and then looks nervous as John begins to read the list aloud. 

“ _Usually, your _Jaan_ would have the following characteristics_ …” John purses his lips and his eyes flick between the expressionless face of his companion and the computer screen. “ _They are the reason you smile day in day out…_ ” 

“I find your willingness to giggle at crime scenes rather enjoyable,” Sherlock offers. John chuckles lightly, tilting his head as he recalls the fond memories. 

“Yes, well I find your willingness to show up at the palace _without wearing any pants_ very humorous as well,” John retorts. Sherlock flushes a little. 

“You think about that _a lot_ then, do you?” Sherlock inquires pointedly. John’s eyes widen and he sits back a little. _‘More than I should, if I’m being honest,’_ he thinks to himself. He just grins at Sherlock and turns his eyes back to the computer screen. 

_“They are your best buddy…”_

“Without reservation.” 

“Or _competition_ for that matter,” John retorts in a waggish manner. Sherlock snorts, his eyebrow quirking a little in challenge. John shrugs and looks down at the screen as Sherlock’s face tightens, bracing himself for the next item on the list. 

_“They complete you_ ,” John says slowly. His eyebrows lift in inquiry as he looks up at Sherlock with a carefully guarded expression. 

Sherlock inhales sharply and launches into his quick-paced reasoning. “Well, it is evident that we have certain _complementary characteristics_ that makes both accomplishment of The Work and fulfillment of daily living tasks more _efficient and effective_. So, if one considers _completion_ of oneself in terms of _creation of an efficient and effective unit _, I would say that our association _qualifies_.” Sherlock’s face and neck becomes persistently more flushed as he hurried through his argument so that he concludes looking as though he's just chased a criminal several blocks.__

“Alright,” John acknowledges, smiling warmly, but his eyes linger a moment longer. It is the same ductile tone he favors using when he says _‘It's fine. It's all fine.’_ He barely pushes his tongue out between his lips in the way that says he is weighing things thoughtfully, trying to feel out where things are going. He returns his eyes to the list again. 

_“They are always in your mind, thoughts, heart…”_ John tries to keep his expression neutral as he peers up into that remarkably young looking face. 

Sherlock shifts uncomfortably. His eyes grow wider with that rare look of slight alarm and his jaw tightens. “There are a lot of bullet points. Tedious... Must we read them all _one-by-one_ , John?” His tone holds its familiar edge of irritation and scorn. John knows better. It is so rare to see the usually poised and collected detective flustered, he can’t help but tease him a bit. 

“I think you meant to say _Jaaneman_ ,” he points out with a impish smile. Sherlock huffs, tipping his head down but looking up through his lashes, his teeth digging into his lip. 

_“They are kind, genuine, sweet, caring, understanding, honest, loyal, faithful…”_ John runs his eyes over the words again. “That's awfully high praise, Sherlock,” he remarks with a soft smile. 

“It is… _deserving,_ ” Sherlock affirms with a deeply sincere tone. John’s eyes burn. He blinks slowly, taking a deep breath and then pressing on. 

_“You can see in their eyes a sincerity-”_

“You are a terrible liar, John. And your face is like an open book. I can read the emotions on it _plain as day_ ,” Sherlock states tipping his chin up. 

“Maybe I'm better at hiding things than you think,” John claims casually. Sherlock’s eyes narrow and he scans John surreptitiously, seeking more data. John grins and returns his gaze to the computer screen. 

_“They care deeply for you… They love you.”_ John's face softens as he considers Sherlock. His head tilts and his smile holds something slightly sad in its undertone. 

“You said... when you asked me to be your best man… you said I am one of the two people you _love most_ in the world.” It is a statement but Sherlock’s voice lifts at the end like a question. 

“Yes. Yes, I did,” John affirms quietly. He looks away and clears his throat. He reaches for his cup of tea and takes a long sip as he struggles to bring his emotions back under control. He anchors his thoughts to the sweet and bitter taste on his tongue; the familiar smell, and the warmth sliding down his throat into his belly. It pulls him out of his own head enough to go on. He places the cup back on the table and turns to the computer screen again. 

_“No matter how wonderful or unwonderful times are, they always stand by you...”_

Sherlock clears his throat. “ _Unwonderful_ is not actually a word.” John laughs and Sherlock smiles that soft, genuine smile that seems reserved for John alone. John’s clears his throat at the swell of pressure in his chest. 

_“They have big hearts… They make your heart skip beats.”_ John raisess his eyebrows as he gazes at his friend. Sherlock casts his eyes down and he smooths the fabric of his pajama bottoms over his thighs. His lips tense slightly under John’s gaze, but he doesn't look up or speak. 

“Ok,” John breathes. He holds in his surprise and presses back the cascade of thoughts at knowing he somehow makes Sherlock's heart _skip beats_. He struggles to get his eyes to focus and to find his place on the computer screen. 

_“You would do anything for them…”_

“I _have_ … and I _will_ … _always_ ,” Sherlock murmurs not looking up. 

John is ripping open. He wants to respond, _‘as have I and I will continue to… always’_ but the moment is already unbearably heavy with previously unspoken truths. He is not sure if it can withstand any more. 

John takes his cup of tea in hand again and slowly sips it. He suddenly wishes it is a different drink altogether; something a little stiffer to dull the sting of how deep this discussion is cutting. John skims his eyes over the list again. Only four more. 

_‘Soldier up. You can do this, Watson’_

John places his cup on the table and glares at the screen with determination. 

_“You can see yourself spending the rest of your life with them…”_ John swallows hard. _Damn._ John doesn't look up. Sherlock’s eyes are on him, but there is no way for him to look casual when meeting his gaze over that statement. Whatever Sherlock's expression reveals is certain to demolish the doctor’s quickly crumbling composure. He presses on, choking out the last three bullets on the list as quickly as he can. 

_“You love them with all your heart. You can't imagine life without them. They are your life.”_ John stares at the laptop a long moment, pursing his lips thoughtfully. The room is silent except for their breathing. John takes a shaky breath then forces his eyes up to meet Sherlock’s. His jade irises are nearly swallowed by the black of his pupils. John closes the laptop and nods his head in a quick, firm movement that he always uses in dangerous situations. It communicates his resolve to do something risky that they know needs to be done and the unspoken understanding that he is depending on Sherlock to do his part to help pull them through as well. 

“You said you can read me… What do you see in my face _now_ , Sherlock?” He asks quietly. Sherlock leans in and studies his face intensely. 

“There’s - There's too much, John,” he admits with a slight frown. 

"Allow me to clarify,” John says with a sly smile. He slowly slides his hand off the laptop and onto Sherlock's leg. It comes to rest on Sherlock’s inner thigh above the knee. Sherlock inhales deeply and John pauses, watching his face carefully. Sherlock looks surprised, his eyes on John's hand as if it is doing something wholly unexpected and miraculous. 

“John?” Sherlock stares at him, his brow drawn up in the corners with confusion. A smile tips his plump lips, like the start of hope. 

“No.” John guards his expression with seriousness for a moment as he shakes his head back and forth sternly. However he sets his jaw or tries to appear authoritative, he can’t hide the sparkle in his eyes. 

“No?” Sherlock inquires. He studies John’s conflicting expression until insight dawns and his eyes go wide. “Jaaneman?” He whispers, a light blush rising in his cheeks. 

John’s face blooms into a huge smile. “There you go,” John affirms. He leans forward and, quite naturally, their lips slide together in a sweetly sensual kiss that tastes of toast, tea and the bitter sweet of truths finally spoken. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love unusual or beautiful words and when I came across Jaameman (pronounced _Jahn-eh-mahn_ and sometimes just said as Jaan) given how much it sounded like _John_ it was too perfect not to write a little story for - especially given the [definition](http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=jaan).  
>  **Your feedback through Comments and Kudos are always warmly welcomed - they truly mean a lot!**
> 
>  
> 
> _Reworked into present tense._


End file.
